


A Scene in a Stairwell

by valerie1972



Series: Scenes from a Blight [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-19 03:46:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/879060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valerie1972/pseuds/valerie1972
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Art of Nola and Alistair by aimo (http://aimo.deviantart.com)</p>
    </blockquote>





	A Scene in a Stairwell

**Author's Note:**

> Art of Nola and Alistair by aimo (http://aimo.deviantart.com)

As she climbed the stairs to the residence floor of the castle, she almost literally ran into Alistair hurrying his way down. He looked alarmed. “I heard you yelling. Why was there yelling?"

"You don't want to be king, right?"

His eyebrows knit.  Did he think that this was a trick question?  Of course he did. “Ah, no. No, I don't."

She let out a breath.  “Good. Because I told Eamon I wouldn't help him make you do it." She reached up and touched the side of his face with her fingertips. "You deserve to make your own choices."

He stared at her, eyes wide, and opened and closed his mouth several times.  

She had seen Alistair laugh and cry and laugh  _until_  he cried. She had seen him in excruciating pain and luminescent joy. She had seen him angry, thrilled, frustrated, triumphant, confused, mischievous, determined, and downright silly.

She had never seen him speechless.

His eyes explored her face as if looking for the punch line.

Perhaps she had spoken to Eamon too soon? Had Alistair changed his mind?  “Was that the wrong thing to tell him?"

He finally blinked, and then spoke. “Ah, no. No, it wasn’t.” His hand ran through his hair. “You  _told_  him that?"

Oh, Maker, he was honestly surprised that she’d stood up for him, wasn’t he?  

"Of course I did. I'm not going to stand by and watch him use your own conscience and sense of honor against you and I am  _surely_  not going to help him do it. He had the nerve to -”

He cut her off by pressing her against the wall of the stairwell with his body and virtually assaulting her mouth with his own.  After a minute or two of heated entanglement he leaned his forehead against hers and the words “marry me" burst forth between his heavy breaths.

 

 

Those minutes against the wall had been a nice reward for standing by him.  A few thanks wouldn’t have been out of place.  But  _-_  “What?"

Kisses rained down on her cheeks, her eyelids, her forehead, her nose, her temples, her chin, until finally her lips were accounted for in his extensive inventory of her facial features. “Marry me. Today. Here. Now."

A thousand reasons rushed into her head as to why this was a terrible idea right now, and none of them had anything to do with her heart. 

“I - Alistair, what has gotten into you?"

"You. I can’t imagine being without you - not ever.”

She stared at him, unbelieving.  “But - why  _now_?”

“Some part of me always thought that when Eamon recovered that he’d talk you into making me king.”

“I told you I’d never -“

He interrupted.  “I know you  _told_  me, but I guess I just thought that once someone like Eamon argued in favor of it that you’d want me to do it after all.”

“Well, you should have known better. I’m stubborn, remember?”

“Ah yes, I do recall that. But I asked you a question.”

How to answer without breaking his heart?  “We can’t.”

His face crumpled and he started to turn away. “Oh. I guess it’s good that I know, then.” He looked back for a split second and his eyes met hers. “Before I _really_ made a fool of myself. I’m sorry.”

She hopped up to the stair above him, blocking his ascent and taking his face, now level with hers, in her hands.

“Listen to me." He tried to turn his eyes away. "This is not about what I want.” Her eyes burned as if they were reinforcing her words.  “I want to marry you.” She smiled thinly as his features lost their tightness and the warmth returned to his eyes.  “I would do it right this second if it weren’t impossible.  But it  _is_  impossible right now.”

“Why can’t we? Wardens can get married - Duncan told me a story about -”

She interrupted before he could go further, because this was about Ferelden, not the Wardens.  “Because if we do, and something were to happen to you before this mess is all settled, there are those who will try to pit me against Anora, and that could be even more disastrous for Ferelden than the current situation.” 

She sighed and sat down on the stairs and, after a moment, he joined her. She leaned into his shoulder and twined her fingers with his. If she had to say no for now, she would do her best to ensure that he knew she wasn’t saying no to him. Maker, never no to  _him_.

He clearly didn’t understand the political implications of what she had said, at least not as fully as she did. But then, he probably never sat awake at night by the fire at camp pondering this very thing.  

“Can you imagine?  Two daughters of teyrns, both widows of Maric’s sons. One has noble blood but the other has experience as a monarch. One with military knowledge, one with political savvy. One the daughter of a tyrant, the other of an accused traitor. One holds the capital while the other has the support of the Bannorn.”  She sighed at the dismal picture she’d just painted. “I wouldn’t even have to do anything - as you’ve already seen with Eamon and Leonas, you don’t have to want the throne for people to want you to have it.”

He released her fingers but a moment later his arm came around her shoulder, pulling her even closer to his side.  Her breath hitched in relief and she sank against him, slipping her fingers under the hem of his tunic to rest her hand on the skin of his abdomen. She needed to feel  _him_  right now, possibly more than ever.

“You’ve thought a lot about this, haven’t you?”

“Sometimes I can’t  _stop_  seeing the bigger picture.”

“I’m sorry for putting you on the spot like that.” He squeezed her shoulders and then his free hand found her chin and raised her face to his. “And I’m sorry for reacting badly. No matter how big my feet are, they always seem to find a way to fit into my mouth.”

“Well, it is also a very large mouth.”

“Hey!”

“Ask me again after the Landsmeet.”

“Really?”

Her heart constricted, and her eyes swam with tears.  She answered the question she’d had to equivocate on earlier: “Yes.”


End file.
